


Byways

by Themistoklis



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Reality, Gen, Road Trips, Route 66 - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 09:50:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themistoklis/pseuds/Themistoklis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney McKay needs to get John Sheppard away from Area 51. It's not the best place to introduce someone to yet another top-secret program: in this case, Atlantis. But John gets to pick the vacation they take, and they end up making their way down Route 66.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Byways

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [SGA Reverse Bigbang - Route 66](https://archiveofourown.org/works/845601) by [mella68](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mella68/pseuds/mella68). 



> This is an alternate reality -- Rodney and John don't work at Atlantis yet. They met before Antarctica. The universe has been aged differently: it's several years after the series actually started.
> 
> It was, of course, inspired by Mella68's lovely artwork. I shaped the AU around the idea that Rodney and John might have an extra reason for wanting to take a vacation and tried to give the story a grounding in some of the sights you can see if you make a trip down Route 66. The ghost town is based on actual completely/nearly abandoned towns, but isn't any specific one. I hope you enjoy it!

"Major Sheppard."

John tensed, stopped with one foot in front of him. He hesitated a moment before putting his weight on his back leg and pivoting around. "Colonel Maybourne."

Maybourne had already dressed down for the day. He was in a crisp button-up shirt that was definitely going to wilt in the heat the second he stepped out of the building, and he eyed John's rumpled flight suit with a slight smirk on his face. John slumped his shoulders and brought his feet together. He told himself he couldn't pull off a good stance with a book tucked under his arm, anyway.

Most of what he knew of Maybourne came from Rodney, and it wasn't much good. The guy spent more time around the scientists than the pilots -- or at least, any pilots that were willing to talk to John.

"Got any tests scheduled tonight?" Maybourne asked. He'd come out of a side hall after John walked past it. They were ten steps apart and the only ones in the hallway but John was keenly aware of how sound echoed in this place.

He shook his head. "Nope, just hanging out tonight. Sir." Which Maybourne would know.

The Colonel nodded slowly and adjusted his grip on his suitcase. "Don't stay up too late, Sheppard," he said, smiling just a beat after he finished speaking.

"Nope," John said. Anything else stuck in his throat as Maybourne turned and walked away. Being here had dulled his comebacks. Most of the time John got away without saying anything at all.

The counselor, after Afghanistan, had told him that _retreating into silence_ was a way of blocking himself off from the world. The doctor had encouraged him to spend more time talking to people, or starting to talk again would begin to feel awkward and possibly anxiety-inducing.

On the long walk to the air hangar, John kept his head down. He preferred to think of keeping quiet as a way to balance out all those years mouthing off. It wasn't that he couldn't talk. It was more that… he didn't have all that much to say.

Besides, the counselor hadn't known John was going to be assigned to Area 51. (At the time, no one had, of course -- John hadn't had a transfer offer yet. He'd figured the first person to knock on his door would be holding discharge papers, not new position information.) Talking too much in a place like this was bound to get a person in trouble. After having settled in here, John was in no rush to get re-assigned somewhere else even more out of the way. He'd heard that they were even sending pilots to Antarctica now.

At the exit of the building he stopped with his hand on the door. The hangar was a couple minutes' walk away. If he went up the stairs to his right, he could wander around and see if Rodney was still here. Find out if he'd seen Maybourne that day too.

He tightened his grip on his book and pushed the door open, sucking in a breath of hot air as he stepped outside.

It would start to get cold soon enough. It was darker than John had expected -- maybe he had the time wrong. Maybe he'd taken longer getting his book than he realized. That meant Maybourne was either catching the last flight out or heading somewhere in a car.

All the better that he didn't go after Rodney, then. If the scientist was still here, he'd be working overtime, and John wouldn't have the benefit of being able to distract him as easily. Overtime meant Rodney got more absorbed in things. And was less likely to play games or let slip anything interesting about his work.

The same would go for all the other scientists, and John would probably spend most of his time sitting awkwardly in the corner not talking to anyone.

The only reason John had access to the labs was to turn things on, anyway. It was boring and irritating work that he was either assigned to or reluctantly used to kill time, when he was desperate. The Ancient devices that were intact enough to light up under his touch always made him feel like something slipped under his skin.

When he reached the hangar, the guards didn't even nod in greeting. He keyed in his access, swiped his card, and slipped inside. The door shut loudly behind him, and his footsteps echoed as he made his way down to where his usual plane was docked.

Rodney had suggested, once, putting in moving sidewalks in this place. It was entirely impractical but sometimes, like now, John kind of wished that the hangar did have them. It would've muffled his steps.

There were a few other lights on in the hangar and he avoided looking at anyone who leaned out to see what was up when he passed their areas. He'd rather not know who else was in here at this time of night. And nobody called out to him.

John settled into the alcove and drew one leg up underneath himself. He turned on his penlight and tried to balance it on his shoulder. It was shadowy in here, but turning on the overhead light in the alcove meant that he was entirely too visible from the middle of the building if someone came looking to boot him back out to quarters.

Not that there were that many people left on base at this time of night. If Maybourne had been heading out to catch the last small plane leaving for Vegas, it was one that never had many passengers. John knew that from the few times he'd decided to spend a night in the city. Unless there were night tests going on, the pilots weren't the ones at Area 51 who kept the long hours.

John didn't exactly have top clearance -- some days it felt like he was barely allowed in the front door -- but he did have the feeling that there were no tests tonight. Right now there were only a handful of other people rattling around in the hangar. From the corners of his eyes he'd been pretty sure he'd only spotted engineers' clothes. Even with most of the overhead lights shut off he would've recognized Air Force or Marine uniforms.

The flashlight wobbled and he grunted, slumping in his seat. The flashlight tipped back slightly but held its place when it clicked against the wall. It wasn't the best angle, and he sighed softly. He unfolded his leg and brought his knee up, propping the book against his thigh. If he pressed his thumb in the center the pages stayed in place. The light was good enough to read by.

It was going to be a long night.

\---

Rodney had been sitting in this lab for so long that his ass had gone numb. He was positive that when he finally got off this workbench his spine was going to crack loud enough to echo. It was a crime that Area 51 couldn't buy them some decent ergonomic chairs.

He should have gone home hours ago. He'd actually almost been headed out the door in time to catch the last flight to Vegas before Elizabeth's e-mail had arrived and sucked him back onto his seat.

Rodney definitely wasn't a fan of the tiny rickety plane they use to transport staff in-state, but the last time he went off-base was weeks ago, and his back was begging for a real mattress. There were few apartments or houses for rent near the base, and he didn't care enough about the nearby town or Vegas to have a permanent room anywhere else.

Still…

He ripped open a power bar and chewed it slowly. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd make sure to make it into the city. For now he re-read Elizabeth's e-mail for the fiftieth time. She wouldn't be expecting an immediate reply, but he'd send it off before he went to bed, or he'd leave it till the last minute. And writing extra encryptions for the e-mail from a hotel's Internet network was not something he really wanted to do. Much better to do it from base.

If he could figure out what to say, anyway. Why the hell did Elizabeth expect him to be able to say anything about the people working here? He could barely remember most of their names, let alone enough details to help her weed through personnel records.

The other e-mail she'd forwarded to him was from Daniel Jackson, and through all the rambling Rodney had managed to decipher that they were no closer to finding Atlantis this week than they had been for the past eighteen, thirty, whatever.

It made even less sense than asking him for help that Elizabeth wanted to recruit so many people _now_ , when the trip didn't even seem possible yet.

He scrolled up and down the message a few times, letting the words blur a bit while he ate. That was another reason to go into the city. A hotel buffet would be way better than power bars. He knew a couple that clearly labeled any allergens and he started tossing the options around in his mind when his eyes snagged on a particular section of the message.

Sometimes I think we need gene carriers even more than we need doctors, or people who can pick up Ancient in a couple of months. So far we only have a few, and most of those are pretty weak. Suffice it to say I don't think we'll be getting our hands on anybody like O'Neill, but it would be nice.

If you find any devices that switch things on for the ATA-less of us, please drop me a line. Until then it might be a good thing that we haven't found Atlantis yet.

After a minute of staring at it, he sidled along the workbench and got to his feet. His back creaked as he did.

He groaned slightly, pressing both hands to the bottom of his spine while he walked across the room. When Rodney thought about the future, it was about work, accolades, and more work. Not about getting old. He wondered if that meant it would catch up on him before he could notice.

The coffee machine in the corner bubbled at his touch and he grit his teeth. No, fuck it, he wasn't even middle-aged yet. He'd just buy himself a comfy damn chair and bring it in on his own, even if he had to pack it into the little plane that ferried people in between Groom Lake and Vegas.

When he got back to the computer with his cup in his hand, he punched at the keys until the flight schedule for the rest of the week, or what of it he was cleared to see, came up. It only took a couple of moments to scan.

Then he pulled up a new e-mail form.

Sheppard,

Lunch -- 1130 hours?

After his coffee, he'd write another one to Elizabeth.

\---

"A vacation," Sheppard deadpanned. The food on his tray was mostly gone, except for a Jell-O cup that laid untouched. It didn't make any sense to Rodney why Sheppard nearly always grabbed a Jell-O cup when he never ate more than a bite of it. " _You're_ suggesting a vacation. For both of us."

Although it did make him feel entitled to swipe the cup off of the man's tray. No sense in letting good food go to waste. "I know I've got the time, and I'd bet money that you do too."

"Are you suggesting we go to a casino?" Sheppard asked. He leaned back from the table, the set of his face slightly wary. There were dark circles under his eyes. "I've been down to the Strip a few times, McKay. Nothing much else to see."

Rodney bit down on his spoon. Sue him, he wasn't the most convincing guy around, but he should be able to talk someone into taking a vacation. Especially someone who looked like he hadn't been sleeping much recently. "I didn't say anything about the Strip," he protested. He waved his spoon around in messy circles. "Come on, are you saying we both don't deserve a vacation? I know I'm tired of being in this place."

The wary look on Sheppard's face blossomed into full-blown incredulity. "Rodney," he said, stretching the name out, "you sleep in your lab more often than not."

"That is so not true!" Rodney sputtered.

He perfectly well made it down to his room when he slept at night. The thing being that he often just skipped sleeping a full night in favor of an afternoon nap, not that Sheppard would ever know -- most of his flights had been scheduled in the afternoons since he'd started working here several months ago.

Rodney never bothered to go out to see the test flights. Aside from the trek it would take to get to a good viewing spot from his labs, he wasn't working on the planes. It was much more reasonable to see John in the mornings when he came to the labs for light switch duty, or arrange a meeting over lunch in the mess.

Late last night this had seemed like a fine place to arrange the idea of spending time together outside the base, but if Sheppard didn't start going for it, Rodney was going to have a hell of a time at it. And there were only so many places on base he would feel safe openly discussing the Atlantis project. He couldn't just blurt it out here where anyone from the cooks to the officers could hear. Unfortunately, inviting Sheppard back to his room would probably get an even weirder reaction than suggesting a vacation.

"Are you sick or something?" Sheppard asked next, tilting his head to one side. That voice was skeptical but the deep creases in his forehead said he considered it an actual possibility. "Is that why you want to get out of this place?"

"I am not sick." Rodney swept the edge of the spoon around his cup to get the last slivers of Jell-O out. "This place is just -- stuffy. That's all."

Sheppard ran a hand through his hair. It went right back into place thanks to whatever goop he put in it every day. "Stuffy." Rodney thought he was going to get questioned again, but the other man just nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I can see that."

"Great!" Rodney beamed. "So you'll go?"

"You haven't said where you want to go." Sheppard cracked open his milk carton. "Or why you want to go with me," he added, casually. Rodney wasn't the best at reading faces, but he thought Sheppard had deliberately looked expressionless with that last sentence.

Rodney waved a hand in a sweeping gesture meant to take up the rest of the mess. "You think there's anybody else here I'd want to spend ten minutes with outside work?" he asked.

"Zelenka."

Rodney snorted. "Maybe if he was drunk."

"Not the Strip, though," Sheppard said. He sounded like he was dipping his foot into a pool to test the temperature. Rodney figured that meant he wasn't completely convinced of this venture.

Time to pull out the big guns.

"I'll let you pick where we go."

Both of Sheppard's eyebrows jumped up. "Yeah?" He sipped his milk for a moment and put the carton down. Rodney braced himself for another round of questioning and let out a breath when it didn't come. "There is always something I've wanted to be able to do."

"Name it."

"I'll e-mail you the details later." Sheppard slid out of his chair and picked up his tray. "Got to get to work before I get in any more trouble."

"Sure thing," Rodney said, happily grabbing his own Jell-O cup. Elizabeth was going to be very happy with him by the time this was all over.

\---

"No laptops."

"No laptops!" Rodney sputtered.

John tried to keep his smile down. From the pink that flushed Rodney's face, he was pretty sure he failed. There was a duffle bag sitting at John's feet -- he'd had to wash it off when he'd tugged it out from under his bed and found it fairly coated with dust that morning. It was clean now, and carefully packed with several changes of clothes, necessary toiletries, and his book. That was it.

"I told you to pack light," John said, crossing his arms over his chest. He was leaning against Rodney's wall. It was the first time since working at Area 51 that he'd done more than poke his head into Rodney's room. "This is not light."

There was a duffle bag on the bed, like John had told Rodney to pack. He could see several changes of clothes inside it. But on the bed itself, there were two laptops, a tablet, and an external hard drive. Plus all the assorted adapters and connecting cords.

"But I need this stuff," Rodney whined. He gestured at all of it. "I don't keep all my files on the same machine. I have a highly advanced organization system." He pointed emphatically at the tablet. "And that's for reading or watching things, you can't do decent typing on it."

John shook his head. "When I said to pack light, I meant to bring the essentials." He walked over to the bed and opened up Rodney's duffle bag, poking through it despite the man's sputtered objections. "You forgot your toothbrush," he said. Rodney grumbled before disappearing into the bathroom. "The laptops and stuff stay. You can bring the tablet if you really want to."

"Hey, wait," Rodney said. John turned around to see him standing in the bathroom doorway, his towel draped between his hands. "Even if we spend all day out, I can still use the laptops at night." He frowned. "Right?"

Damn. John had been hoping to prolong the reveal until they were at least on the plane. Being in public didn't guarantee that Rodney would tone down any of his rants, of course, but he had thought the confined space might help. Then again, since he'd worked so hard to make-nice and get this vacation to happen in the first place, maybe Rodney would take it in stride. He _had_ let John pick after all.

"There won't really be room to store everything," he said, as casually as he could muster. He thought he saw Rodney's face drop and turn white in less than a blink. "That's why I told you to pack light. We should only bring what we absolutely need… and probably room for souvenirs"

Rodney waved his hands around for a few seconds before he managed to say anything. John tried not to smirk or laugh, because it was something, being able to reduce Rodney McKay to speechlessness. He was going to have to mark this away in his memory for later. Judging from the irritation rising to McKay's face, though -- it was going to be a memory used for much later.

"What ridiculous kind of trip have you planned for us?" he asked, wrapping his towel tightly around his arms. Then his blue eyes widened. "Oh, God, we're going _camping_ , aren't we?"

"No, we aren't," John said.

If anything, Rodney looked more stricken at that. "Then what?"

"Kind of a road trip," John said, wincing a little when Rodney winced. Okay. So he had not planned this announcement well enough. He took a deep breath. "Look, I've always -- well, I've always wanted to see Route 66," he said. There.

Rodney stared at him for so long that John wondered if he hadn't actually spoken after all. Then he unfurled his towel and folded it back up. "Your dream vacation is _driving?_ "

"Route 66 is a historical treasure," John insisted. He crossed his arms over his chest. "And you said I could pick," he added, trying his best to keep any whining out of his voice.

Rodney's answering snort said he might not have been successful. "We have a whole week off and you could have -- you could've flown to Australia, or the Alps--"

"Why would I want to go to the Alps?"

"Never mind," Rodney said. He stuffed his towel into his duffle bag. "I just can't believe you consider driving around in a car, using gasoline to go nowhere, is going to be fun." He turned around to face John. "At least tell me I get to pick the music half the time. Or three quarters."

John hunched his shoulders sheepishly, and smiled. He made sure that Rodney didn't over pack, and together they left quarters to make it to the plane on time.

\---

Colonel Maybourne sat in front of them on the flight. They were halfway to Vegas when he turned around and got up on one knee so he could loom over the back of the seat at them. Or at least Rodney assumed that was what the man was doing. He didn't think Maybourne was tall enough to just swivel around like that.

"So I hear we won't be seeing much of you two around for a while," Maybourne said. He had on the kind of smile Rodney's grade school teachers would use when they thought they were going to trip him up on something.

"Seven days," Rodney said, crisply.

Maybourne was one of the worse military guys around Area 51, and that was a sliding scale of horribleness. Though Rodney might be biased. He instinctively hated anyone who thought they knew how to exploit science without having even a basic grounding education in scientific fact.

"That's quite the vacation. Where are you two headed?" Maybourne asked, glancing between them.

Sheppard opened his mouth, but Rodney spoke first. "Driving around in circles," he said. Maybourne blinked and Rodney gave a close-lipped smile. "We're going to be exploring historical Americana."

"Is that so?" Maybourne rested his arm on the back of his seat for a moment. Sheppard seemed to slump a bit, but Rodney had figured out long ago that it was his reaction to being expected to stand tall like a nice little soldier. "Plan on hopping a plane to anywhere in particular?"

"No," Rodney said. He wished he still had the cup of soda the attendant had given him after they'd taken off. "What are you heading out for?" he asked, since he didn't have a clue about where this conversation was going.

"Just taking a break before the week starts up," Maybourne said, smoothly. "Should I expect to bump into either of you in D.C.?"

Now it was Rodney's turn to fail at getting a comment off first. Sheppard cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "I don't know about the other Majors, but I definitely didn't get invited to the hearing," he drawled.

Maybourne just nodded, but it took Rodney a moment to remember. Ah, right. The Colonel was one of the people who wheedled money and favor out of Senators and Representatives with high enough clearances to know about the Stargate program. Ugh. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of meandering around D.C.'s museums and getting caught up in one of those sessions.

"Then I'm sure the base will be glad to have the two of you back, safe and sound, at the end of your trip," Maybourne said. With that he turned around and slid back into his seat. It was nearly time to land by then, anyway.

Sheppard shot him a look with one raised eyebrow and Rodney just mimicked his slump. Sure. Let Maybourne think that he was less-than-content to whittle his career away at Groom Lake forever. If the Colonel hadn't sunk his claws into the Atlantis project yet, then Rodney wasn't going to give him an opening. Not just because Elizabeth would never forgive him, but because Rodney was kind of hoping that going to Atlantis would be a way to get as far from the worst people in the program as possible.

But of course Sheppard didn't know about the Atlantis project yet, either. Rodney bites his lip, chewing over the idea of how he could subtly let the man know that Maybourne had just been trying to rub in the embarrassment of their lowly positions.

"I wouldn't want to work at the SGC now anyway," he finally muttered. He crossed his arms over his stomach and eyed the window as they pulled up on the city. "Way too much fuss there."

Sheppard nodded slowly and for some reason that made Rodney wonder briefly if he'd ever even seen the Stargate, or if he'd just been read in on the Ancients and their technology after getting assigned to light switch duty at Area 51.

Well, if the first time Sheppard saw the Stargate was to visit Atlantis, that was going to be a hell of a day.

\---

"Is one of those for me?" John asked.

He turned around when Rodney sprinted to join in him in the boarding line for their connecting flight. The man was holding a cardboard drink with three cups of coffee, all with some kind of scribbled instructions on the side.

Rodney somehow balanced the drink tray while yanking his boarding pass out of his pocket. Both their duffle bags had been too big to fit in the overhead bin and were being shuffled from the Groom Lake plane to the new flight. John had bought a couple of magazines at one of the airport stores and intended to recycle them when they landed in St. Louis, where they were going to start their trip for real.

"Yes, yes, the one with the big 'S' written on it," Rodney said. He leaned around the people in front of them to gauge the length of the rest of the line.

"Oh, that's what that is," John said, eye on what he'd thought was a number five. He hadn't had coffee off-base for so long that he wondered what it was going to taste like. Then again, Rodney wouldn't willingly shell out money for coffee that wasn't up to his exacting standards.

They eventually got seated and Rodney settled in without spilling any of the coffee on them. "I wanted to make sure I got some before we set off," he explained, handing John his cup.

"You realize we're not going into the wilderness, don't you?" John tried not to wince when his coffee was hotter than he expected. "There's going to be places to eat and get coffee."

"What would I know about that?" Rodney countered. "What I know about Route 66 boils down to a song lyric." He paused. "And a professor who mentioned it in U.S. history -- which I was forced to take, mind you -- just before going on about the highway system."

John gingerly removed the lid on his coffee to let out some of the heat. "There's this old pre-Internet technique for learning about stuff, Rodney, called 'asking questions,'" he said. He blew on the coffee. "Having planned the trip, I'd like to think I happen to know a little about what we'll be doing."

Rodney held up one finger and guzzled half of a coffee before practically gasping for breath and looking over at him. "Okay, fine. Tell me all about the glorious sight-seeing we'll be doing and the plain, honest food we'll be eating."

"You _like_ plain, honest food," John pointed out.

Just then the seatbelt signs came on and the attendants stepped out into the aisles to begin the safety speech. John put the lid back on his coffee and held it with both hands even though it was still a little warm for that. Rodney gripped the sides of his drink holder and turned to look out the window.

"You can tell me all about it on the way to St. Louis," Rodney said.

John grinned and settled back in his seat. He nodded at the attendant when she walked past them, and sipped his coffee a little while the plane taxied down the runway. This was already turning out to be better than his family's vacations and they weren't even on the road yet. No bickering with his brother, or his father's seat on the plane being mysteriously several rows ahead of the rest of them. He knew bickering with Rodney would come soon enough, but it would be a lot less cutting than fighting with his brother had ever been.

"Is it weird for you to fly without being the pilot?" Rodney asked, interrupting his thoughts.

They were rapidly ascending into the air, but it was a cloudless day and without being next to the window it was hard for John to eye exactly what height they were at.

"Not really. Especially not in a huge thing like this," John said, glancing around the interior of the plane. A few rows ahead of them he spotted someone white-knuckling their seat and shook his head. "It's more like driving than flying to me."

Rodney was quiet until they leveled out in the air, and then he started slowly sipping his coffee like a normal person. "So what do you have planned for us?"

"We won't do the whole route. We probably have the time, but I'd like to have the freedom to make frequent stops," John said. The whole route they could easily drive before the week was up, but he didn't think there'd be much of a point if they blasted through without sightseeing. "There's the Meramec Caverns and a drive-in theater--"

"We're going to stop to see a movie?"

"Two movies," John said, grinning. "Back-to-back with an intermission." He'd looked up what films were playing and honestly, they weren't anything he'd normally like to see, but he couldn't pass up the experience. "Then we'll skate through Kansas to get to Oklahoma, which has got a few museums I definitely want to stop at."

Rodney tilted his head slightly. "Museums?"

John grinned broadly. "Yep." He didn't mention that the Oklahoma museums were about cowboys and motorcycles, partly to keep them a surprise and partly because this was the first spark of genuine interest Rodney had shown in the trip. "There's a dinosaur museum in New Mexico that you'll like. A bunch of ghost towns between the beginning and end, too."

"Mmm." Rodney emptied one of his coffee cups and set the cardboard carrier down on the floor at his feet. "Dinosaurs are good. Ghost towns I expected."

"I had that impression," John said. He tried to think of something else to entice Rodney with. The petrified forest was a maybe. Their last side-trip up to the Grand Canyon before heading back to Vegas probably wasn't it. "Well, you'll definitely like our next-to-last stop," he suggested.

"And what would that be?"

"The Arizona meteor crater."

Rodney paused. "Yeah. That sounds good," he said, a tiny lopsided smile on his face. John decided that was as good a sign as any to start their trip with.

\---

There was a line at the car rental counter when they finally left baggage claim. John snagged a pair of sunglasses off a display before joining Rodney in it. He raised his eyebrows at the look Rodney shot him. "What? I knew I forgot something."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "What exactly are you planning on?" he asked, leaning to look out the windows. It was getting to be dark outside but there were plenty of lights on in the parking lot. "I get veto power. I'm not letting you get us a gas guzzler that'll die twenty miles from the nearest station."

"Yeah, Rodney," John said, slowly. "Because what I really want on my vacation is to spend _more_ time in a military-style vehicle. Or hike through the desert."

"Well, it better have comfortable seats."

"I figure we'll take a stroll around the lot," John said. The truth was he was sure he wouldn't end up getting certain things, but they had time before they needed to reach their motel for the night, and he thought he could afford to browse. That was what vacations were for, right?

The counter person took their information and told them to meet someone in a green shirt in the lot to look around. She was a short woman who reminded John vaguely of Miko Kusanagi, from Rodney's labs, except she looked nothing like Miko aside from the style of her glasses. She asked them a couple of questions about what they wanted and led them deeper into the parking lot.

John ran his hand over the hood of a red convertible that Rodney had rolled his eyes at. "Big surprise," Rodney said.

"I could afford it," John said, just protesting a little. It felt weird to know that was true, though the look on Rodney's face said that hadn't been why he'd rolled his eyes.

John had given a cursory look through his finances when they'd kicked him out of Afghanistan and bleakly planned how long he could life off of them without having to try to get a job. At that time he'd expected to be dishonorably discharged. When he'd gotten the transfer order to Area 51, he definitely hadn't anticipated the increased pay that came with being read in on a top secret program. Even if Rodney did whine about the cost, it wouldn't dent John's spirits.

But he stepped away from the car to stretch his arms above his head, still feeling the cramp of the tiny plane seat. "Let's look at a few more before we pick."

"Where are you two heading in this?" the employee asked.

"Nearest part of Route 66," John said. He kept an eye out for anything that would be fun to drive and not leave Rodney constantly bitching about leg room.

"Ah, so you're definitely not looking for a sedan, then," the woman said, grinning from ear to ear. She looked around the lot for a moment and then glanced back over at them. "You boys got your motorcycle licenses?"

"Oh, I don't think…" John started, reflexively imagining Rodney in a side car and trying not to crack up.

Rodney interrupted, jutting his chin out. "Show us what you got," he said. John was too surprised to contradict him.

The motorcycles were on the opposite end of the parking lot. There were a lot fewer than the cars, but the woman still ignored most of them anyway, directing them to look at a few bulky models John recognized as touring types. They had more room for storage, and seats with cushions that even Rodney couldn't complain about straight off the bat. John absently ran his hand over one. There were even a couple with seats clearly long enough to accommodate two people.

Still, he didn't fool himself that they were going to take a week's vacation on a motorcycle with Rodney clinging to his back the entire time. "It's nice of you to humor me, but I'm not sure it's right for the two of us," he said, looking over at Rodney.

Rodney shrugged. "If you want to look at the metal death traps, we can look at the metal death traps," he said. He wrinkled his nose slightly and knocked on the side of the cycle John had his hand on. "Whoever thought this was a superior form of long-distance travel compared to a nice, air-conditioned car?"

"You get air when you're riding a motorcycle, Rodney." He nodded at the rental employee when she indicated she was going to give them a moment to talk alone, and then headed off out of earshot while Rodney complained.

"Hot air filled with bugs!"

John raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't matter. You can't drive one, and I think we can both agree that you sitting behind me the entire time isn't what we want." He tucked his new sunglasses in the front of his shirt.

"Who said I couldn't drive one?" Rodney asked. He crossed over so that he was standing on the opposite side of the motorcycle from John, and they could look each other in the face. His duffle bag was starting to slide off his shoulder.

"Um." John was at a loss for that one. After a moment of Rodney not answering, John shrugged and spread his hands. "Sorry, buddy. Can't picture it."

"I'll have you know," Rodney proclaimed, "that when I was younger and far more reckless, I did in fact get my M license."

Seeing the blank, incredulous look on John's face must have spurred him on, because Rodney launched off into an entire story to explain. "When I first went to university, they actually locked the labs at night. Did you know that? Something about not having professors around to supervise, yadda yadda." He shook his head like he still wanted to get that rule changed. "Even the library shut down and then I was basically stuck in the dorms. The only other tolerable person there was in one of my classes and, well…"

His voice drifted off for a second before he rallied. "Had to have something interesting to write to Jeannie about," he said. The way he started examining the tour bike almost made John speak up, but he thought if Rodney had stopped talking, it meant he didn't want that story pried into anymore.

John just nodded, instead. "Are you sure, though?" he asked, gesturing at the motorcycles. "You were complaining about making sure we'd have comfortable enough seats in a car."

Rodney half-smirked, his mouth lopsided. "If it's unbearable," he said, "I'll just make us find the nearest rental place and swap out." He shook his head. "Don't think we're getting out of here without a GPS. I am _not_ getting lost just so you can get all sentimental with a map."

"That's a fair trade."

\---

The next day Rodney deeply regretted giving in on the motorcycle thing. Especially without a fight.

Barreling along the road was enormously boring once he worked out that he was not, actually, going to fall off the damn machine. He'd perhaps overestimated how easily the operations of a motorcycle would come back to him.

At least they had spent the night in a hotel. A real one, not the barely-there type that Rodney expected them to run into. Even Sheppard had needed to admit that starting their trip off in the dark, missing a night's sleep, would not be a good plan. The hotel did have a breakfast buffet, too, so he was able to load up on scrambled eggs and biscuits and bacon before they had to check out.

The helmets they had were at least not digging into his head, like the first one he'd purchased because the friend who taught him hadn't had a spare helmet. Motorcycle helmets were frantically expensive and Rodney was glad that they didn't have to pay to upgrade to something that would actually protect their heads if they took a curve too quickly or the tire blew out.

Every few minutes he would try to remind himself that the tire was probably not going to blow out, though, and not to worry about it. And wonder if it would be unfair to insist on making a side trip to trade the motorcycles in for a car halfway through the week, or if it would make Sheppard pout too much.

He discarded the idea of following Sheppard in a car pretty quickly. The man would never be able to slow down enough for that. Rodney had enough trouble keeping up with him as things stood now.

He also hoped that Sheppard was having a good time, because Rodney was so bored that he was reduced to slowly reciting the Fibonacci sequence. He'd forgotten how absolutely-not-entertaining driving was.

From what he remembered of Sheppard's vague plans, they were heading to the Meramec Caverns first. That would definitely be more interesting than looking at concrete and trees, and he hoped they got there soon.

But even with his desire to make their first real stop, he had to keep reminding himself not to speed up for stretches of straight road like Sheppard did every time there was room. He was not that confident what he'd remembered of his driving abilities so far. There was no point to getting Sheppard alone out here and then crashing so hard that he would end up disqualified from Atlantis and the Stargate program altogether.

Speaking of, now that they were clear from any Area 51 influence, Rodney would need to think of a good way to bring up the Atlantis project.

Maybe he should just pull over to the side of the road and do it there. He wasn't insane and paranoid enough to expect their motel rooms would be bugged, but it'd still be easier to talk about everything when they were far away from anyone else that there was zero chance of someone overhearing. He wouldn't have to work up his nerve to make sure that he didn't speak too loud, or keep checking to make sure their door hadn't been left open a crack, or whatever. Rodney McKay was a genius, not a spy.

He hoped that tonight they ended up in a motel with Internet. If Elizabeth had sent him an e-mail about him talking to Sheppard, he thought it would help. She was the one who was good with people.

Inhaling and glad that the helmet's visor kept him from sucking in any of the tiny bugs splattering against him with every extra mile on the road, Rodney tried to clear his head.

There was no way he could pitch Atlantis like Elizabeth could. Hopefully whatever he came up with would be able to stand on its own.

But really, who would turn down _Atlantis?_ He probably shouldn't even be worrying about Sheppard's reaction.

\---

"A cowboy museum?" Rodney asked, staring at the building.

They'd had to weave their way over to Okalahoma City and then through mid-morning city traffic to get there. John was taking a moment in the parking lot to stretch his legs and look around. He'd never been to the city before. If he hadn't already planned for reservations for that night, he might look around.

The museum should be enough, though. "You had fun at the caverns," John said, securing his helmet. They'd taken a tour and despite Rodney's initial claims that he wasn't going to be entertained by scenery, but he had ended up enjoying it.

Rodney faltered at that and started walking with him up to the building. "Okay, but the change from the roadway was nice. And they had some decent information about all the formations." He glanced over at John and John decided not to bring up the moment the tour guide had turned off the lights and Rodney had jumped. "I doubt the cowboy museum has an ice cream bar like the caverns."

"They'll still have food," John said. The line for tickets was short at this time of day, so they had to walk through some empty rope aisles to get to the end of it. "And you perked up when the guide said Jesse James hid out there. That's the kind of stuff that'll be here," he reasoned.

Rodney looked around for another moment before responding, "This is such an American thing."

John almost laughed. "Um, yeah. It's a cowboy museum."

They meandered through the museum over the course of a couple of hours, and John cataloged away every instance that Rodney seemed to be enjoying himself. It helped that he'd been working at Area 51 for nearly a year now. The first month in the job, he would've said Rodney never enjoyed anything. By now, though, it was pretty easy to pick apart all of Rodney's blustering to find a real person underneath.

They had to dart past a fair amount of people taking photos in front of statues, and at one point they back-tracked to avoid a day care group, but even Rodney lightened up when they got to the fake Old West town.

"Can you imagine living in a place this size?" Rodney asked as they walked out of the blacksmith shop.

They tilted their heads back to look at the two-story windmill in front of them next, which John reflexively waited to see spinning before remembering that they were inside. "I think we kind of do," he said, elbowing Rodney gently. He could hardly say where they lived in a crowd like this.

"Yeah, but…" Rodney hesitated and frowned as they rounded a corner to look at some more buildings -- stores, a school, a church. Rodney made a thoughtful sound. "I guess this place is actually more self-sustaining than … the lake."

John tried to picture a saloon being added to the mess, or a church popping up between hangars. Or being able to easily leave base to get to a house like the people at this fake town would've. "There'd be more to do," he said. "But we'd be out of work."

"Speak for yourself!" Rodney said. "It'd take me a couple of weeks to learn photography. Or work the telegraph machine." He gave John a long, evaluating look that had John fidgeting in place. Then Rodney snapped his fingers. "You'd be a U.S. Marshal."

"I'd rather not." John wrinkled his nose at the thought of having to constantly face people down. The Area 51 job was much better than Afghanistan had been in that respect.

Rodney grinned and thumbed in the direction of the stable. "You'd rather work with horses?"

"Who says I couldn't be the priest?" John asked, keeping his face straight.

Rodney barked a laugh that had a group of kids turn around to stare at them, and John ducked his head, smirking to himself.

\---

When Rodney spotted the neon-lit, sixty-foot soda bottle on the road up ahead of them, he was sure this was the 'diner' Sheppard had been insisting they have dinner at.

It was too dark to see much of the scenery, but it was mostly tall grass or short wheat at this point -- Rodney couldn't tell just from glancing. But the dark meant that the soda bottle acted like a lighthouse on this little strip of road.

As strange as it was, it was actually kind of a relief. It'd been a long time since Rodney had been in the middle of nowhere at night. Area 51 always had some lights on, and he never had to go into the desert for any of his research. Plus, he was getting hungry.

The building behind the giant soda bottle was shaped bizarrely, so that Rodney slowed down to stare at it as they pulled into the parking lot. A huge metal canopy stretched out past the building itself, and the glass wall they faced was lined with hundreds of multicolored bottles. He felt like he'd been transported into a near-future sci-fi movie randomly set in the American Midwest.

"I sincerely doubt this is one of the 'classic' places you've been insisting on so far," Rodney said after they both had their helmets off.

John ran both his hands through his hair. "It's new," he admitted. "But I saw the pictures while I was trying to figure out what to do for this leg and wanted to see it in person."

"I'm guessing they specialize in soda," Rodney said, dryly.

"Over six hundred varieties."

Rodney thought of the last time he'd been in a grocery store. The soda aisle then had been ridiculous and he's pretty sure that it had nowhere near six hundred types of drinks. He wondered why anyone would decide to stock that much soda and how they could possibly sell on a regular basis.

He was hungry, though. It had been a long time since they'd stopped for lunch. The motel was still another hour's ride away, too, and Rodney had already eaten the snacks he'd bought that morning when they'd stopped on the side of the road to stretch their legs for a while. So he could let the truly absurd amount of soda in this place stand if he got the chance to order a big meal and sit down in a comfortable chair while he ate it.

Their waitress brought them a menu that was smaller than he was expecting, until he saw an addendum saying that the full array of drinks were listed on a separate menu. Rodney ordered a hamburger and a few sides and -- of course -- soda. And coffee. Hey, it was 'bottomless.'

Sheppard took an extra minute to decide. "Yeah, ah… can I get a cherry Coke and the chicken fried steak?" He glanced at Rodney and added, "And a coffee too."

Rodney frowned as the waitress walked away. "What the hell is a chicken fried steak?"

"A steak covered in flour and batter and then fried," Sheppard said. He grinned when Rodney shuddered. "What? You eat chicken fingers," he reasoned. "It's basically the same thing. Except with steak."

"Ruining a perfectly good steak," Rodney countered. He leaned back as the waitress returned with their drinks and nodded at her, immediately curling his hand around his mug so he could sip his coffee. It wasn't that bad.

For a moment while they rested and let the road weariness seep out of them some, the noise from the rest of the crowd rose around them. After hearing nothing but wind rushing past him for the past several hours, Rodney didn't mind the clatter for once. It wasn't the tense, cloistered conversation from the Area 51 mess, with everybody trying to talk without anyone overhearing anything they were saying. Everyone here seemed to be in a good mood, or at least on their way to one.

It would be a terrible place to actually discuss the Atlantis expedition. But it might not be such a bad location to introduce the idea of talking about work.

"So, we'll be back at work soon," he said, pausing to stir a packet of sugar into his coffee.

Sheppard raised his eyebrows. "Getting tired of me, Rodney?"

"What? No!" Rodney blurted.

"Relax, it was a joke." He smiled and Rodney tried not to glance around the restaurant to see if anyone was staring at them. Sheppard looked out at the crowd and for a second Rodney thought he was self-conscious, too, until he realized the man was just looking to see if any of their food was coming yet. "Actually I'm surprised you haven't brought up work already."

"Really?" Had he been giving more hints than he'd thought?

Sheppard glanced back at him. "Rodney McKay, going a whole week without a pack of laptops? Yeah," he said, half-smiling. "Though you made the most of the tablet at the motels."

Rodney smirked. "Like not having a keyboard would defeat me? Please."

And he'd used Sheppard's bizarrely long showers as private time to read through his e-mails. Elizabeth had seemed optimistic about the prospect of Sheppard joining the project. She'd repeated their need for strong ATA gene carriers. Rodney had grumbled to himself a bit at that. If the Ancients were going to put things into humanity's gene pool, why couldn't they have made the ATA gene a little more dominant? But it was a good reason to bring Sheppard along, and the man was one of the few people at Area 51 he actually tolerated, so.

"I knew it wouldn't," Sheppard said, simply. He finished off his coffee and immediately started in on his cherry soda. Rodney's face wrinkled at the idea of that flavor combination. "Missing the labs?"

"It'd be nice to get some work done before I slept," he admitted. Although to be honest Rodney hadn't been staying up that late anyway. Riding a motorcycle was more exhausting than he remembered. Though he'd probably been in better shape in college.

Sheppard rolled his eyes.

"What?" Rodney asked. "You snore. It keeps me up and I have to kill the time somehow."

"I do _not_ snore."

"Do so."

The waitress brought their food a few minutes later while they were still bickering, and then Rodney started a whole new fight.

Sheppard carved up his monstrosity of a steak and held out a cube skewered on his fork. "Are you sure you don't want to try any?"

"Hmmph. You couldn't pay me to eat that."

"You eat M.R.E.s when there are other options, Rodney," Sheppard said.

"That," Rodney insisted, "is an abomination."

"What about poutine?"

"Poutine makes perfect sense! You put gravy on mashed potatoes!"

Sheppard snorted. "And people fry poultry and fish!"

They ended up arguing for the entire meal, and it wasn't until Rodney's head hit the pillow that night that he remembered he wanted to talk about Atlantis before they went to sleep. He'd have to try again tomorrow.

And try harder, too.

\---

It was their third stop of the day and the third ghost town. Rodney had thought he'd be tired of them by now, but there wasn't a whole lot else to see before they got to Tucumari and their motel for the night. He'd woken up that morning anticipating their last stop more than anything else -- that was where Sheppard's much-discussed dinosaur museum was.

He had expected the ghost towns to bore him and blend together, but the longer they spent in them, the more creeped out he got. This was the largest by far. The sky had also clouded over the longer they drove, and Rodney could've sworn he felt mist on his neck. It was the muggiest day of their trip by far. The clouds were too dark for him, but he trusted that even Sheppard didn't want to get soaked and they'd get to their motel before it started pouring.

They parked their motorcycles at one end of main street and got off to walk around. Sheppard nearly tripped in a dip in the dirt road and just caught himself, clearing his throat and stripping off his jacket like it hadn't happened. He draped his jacket over his bike and ran his hands through his hair. Rodney put his own jacket down over his helmet.

"This place has an interstate ramps," Rodney said, trying to break the silence. He'd noticed one on their way in. It wasn't like he could see the interstate from here, but the other two towns had been way more isolated. "Why'd it end up abandoned?"

"Doesn't make sense," Sheppard said. "None of the things I read knew why."

He walked across the street to look at an old square building without glass in the windows anymore. The paint had flaked off, the wood definitely hadn't been that color when the place was built, and the roof had fallen in on itself some time ago. Rodney could tell because when he peered in through the window, there were weeds growing up through the shingles.

This place was what he had expected out of a Route 66 trip. The limited mental image he'd absorbed from pop culture over the years had been of a bunch of desolate, decaying places like this town.

Instead they'd seen plenty of places that were, yes, tiny, but hosted quite a few residents and more than a handful of tourists. Maybe the numbers had been boosted by the warm summer weather, but there had still been life in everywhere else they'd visited. Even after traveling on nearly-empty roads all day and not having any voice to listen to but his own, reflected in his head, Rodney had always felt like they weren't far from civilization.

A town like this, with a connection to the interstate, shouldn't have shrunk like the rest of Route 66 or died off entirely like the other two towns they'd stopped in today. It made everything extra creepy. Rodney found himself listening to whether his footsteps were too loud as he walked down the road.

He also had to grab the front of his shirt and shake it a little to get a breeze against his skin. The humidity was making the fabric stick to him. Hopefully this was going to end up being a short stop. It wasn't like there was that much to study -- a lot of what was left seemed destroyed, like it'd been looted at one point.

The signs were so weathered that he could only make out letters here and there. Aside from the gas station, which still had rusted pumps out front, it was impossible for him to make out what all these places had once been.

"What are you thinking about?" Sheppard asked him, startling Rodney out of his thoughts and into the air an inch or two. To his credit, Sheppard only grinned and held back from laughing out loud.

"Nothing," Rodney said.

He frowned when Sheppard crossed the road and walked up a couple of steps so rotted the ends had fallen off. He stood on the porch, squinting through the dirty glass in the door. Rodney cringed and tried to see if the porch was bowing under Sheppard's weight, but he couldn't tell. He cleared his throat but Sheppard didn't turn around.

"That is going to collapse under you," he said. He walked up to the building but kept off the steps. "Look at it! The walls would break under a stiff breeze." He glanced up at the sky. "Or a good storm. Which, if you haven't noticed, is going to start soon."

"We'll get out of here before it rains, Rodney," Sheppard said. "And the porch feels fine."

"Oh, you're an architect now?"

"I know how to study my surroundings," Sheppard protested. He turned around, scowling slightly and generally looking cranky. Even his hair seemed more ridiculous than usual. The humidity from the storm was probably making it stick up like that. Sheppard crossed his arms over his chest. "I kind of had formal training."

Rodney snorted. "And the Air Force taught you to go climbing onto rickety buildings?" he asked.

Rolling his eyes, Sheppard opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Rodney snapped his fingers several times.

"Oh! Wait. I have something important to tell you about."

Sheppard's eyebrows jumped up. "Something more important than the porch potentially collapsing?"

"Much more important," Rodney said, waving his hand.

\---

The porch did feel a bit wobbly when he'd stepped on it, but it was only a couple feet off the ground, and John hadn't been that worried about it. Then Rodney had pointed it out and it had seemed sturdier. Even though he knew that was stupid.

Now he felt a bit whiny about it. A second ago he'd been in mortal danger and now Rodney wanted to spring something on him he'd apparently been plotting since before they started this trip. All the fun of exploring some of the Route's forgotten towns had just been sucked out of the day.

"I've been trying to talk to you about this practically since we left Area 51. I was going to mention it the other night but I was too tired and the other times it never seemed like I'd be able to talk about it without creating a scene -- you know, around people who shouldn't know about it."

John walked the couple of steps down to the street and sat down on the edge of the porch. The wood groaned slightly and he scooted forward so most of his weight wasn't on the structure.

Rodney was waving both his hands as he talked, a huge grin spread across his face. "Actually it's a good thing that I didn't try to talk about it earlier, this is the perfect place. There's nobody around and we don't have to worry about being overheard!"

Behind Rodney, John saw dark spots appear in the dust. He looked up at the sky. There were streaks of silver and gray leading down to the horizon in the distance. More spots littered the ground, and a drop of rain fell against John's boot. "Make it fast, Rodney."

"Make -- Make it fast? I tell you I've got something important… something _supremely_ important to talk about, and--"

"Rodney," John said, rubbing a hand over his face.

Rodney sputtered. "Fine. Have it your way! But don't complain to me about it later." He hesitated, dropped his hands to his sides, and took a deep breath.

John felt his stomach clench. Rodney looking serious instead of furious was usually a bad sign.

"You're sick of working in Nevada, aren't you?" Rodney asked.

Well, that was unexpected. John blinked and leaned back slightly even though the wood underneath him made a noise at the movement. "Nevada's fine," he said, guardedly.

"If by 'fine' you mean out in the middle of nowhere with half the funding the rest of the Stargate program has, relegating all its scientists into petty research roles just rehashing things the SGC has already established," Rodney said. He snapped his fingers twice more. "And! A bunch of figuring out just-how-broken Ancient toys are, which _you_ should be intimately familiar with."

John grimaced. "Nobody likes light switch duty. Doesn't mean nobody needs to do it."

"But wouldn't it be more fun if everything in the labs _worked?_ "

John stared at Rodney for a long minute before getting to his feet. Rodney still had that huge smile plastered on his face, and he didn't seem to notice that there were raindrops scattered over his shoulders. His eyes were wide and he seemed lit up from within.

"Well?" Rodney asked, after a minute. He gestured with both hands. "Don't you want to know what I'm talking about?"

John swallowed. "Are you telling me you're plotting to take over the world?"

More rain patted the dirt around them. It was still coming slowly, not even drizzling yet, but a wind had picked up. It was cool and that meant the storm would be coming in soon. John felt balanced on the edge of something and he just hoped that he wouldn't be leaving this town to find the nearest phone and tell the SGC that Rodney had lost his mind.

Rodney blinked, and his jaw dropped. " _What?_ "

John's face flushed red. "Just explain what you're ranting about, Rodney," he snapped.

"Fine," Rodney muttered. "If you don't want the whole -- whatever." He took a deep breath. "I'm signed on to another project. We're looking for the lost city of Atlantis. It was built by Ancients--"

"The _what?_ "

"Shush! You tell me to talk and then you don't let me finish," Rodney said, gesturing wildly with both hands. John pressed his lips together and tried to remember if Rodney had bumped his head during this trip at all. "You know about the Ancients and the ATA gene. We've been looking for a city they built for years. Well, mostly Daniel Jackson, but Elizabeth Weir is working on it now, too, do you remember me telling you about Elizabeth? She's the only good person in the SGC's whole damn bureaucracy."

"You're telling me there's a real Atlantis."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "You work with alien technology every day, Sheppard." He pointed at John. "You've seen tons of Goa'uld artifacts! Ancient Egyptian-style artifacts!"

John cringed. What passed for normal at Area 51 was something he'd told himself he'd never get used to, even though Rodney and most everyone else definitely had. "But… Atlantis? A sunken city, really? With mermaids?"

For a brief moment Rodney's irritation gave way to confusion, his forehead crinkling. "Who said anything about mermaids?"

John held up his hand and moved it to mimic swimming through the water. "I figured that's what happens with an underwater city…"

Rodney sighed, frustrated, and shifted his weight. He stepped forward and squinted up at the sky, noticing the rain for the first time. It was scattered across both their faces now, but still coming slowly. "I wouldn't put it past the Ancients to do that kind of genetic experiment, but as far as I know, there will be no mermaids in Atlantis when we find it."

"How long does it take to scan the oceans?" John asked, scratching at the back of his head. He should tell Rodney they needed to leave. It was about to start raining in earnest, and he wasn't sure how good Rodney would be at driving through that kind of weather. The roads leading to and from this little town weren't the best, either.

"Oceans?" Rodney stared at him for a long moment, the only sounds surrounding them the wind and quiet patter of the rain.

Then Rodney burst out laughing and John's face flushed. "You suck at telling stories," he snapped.

"Atlantis isn't on _Earth_ , Sheppard. It's somewhere in space. We just have to find the right Stargate coordinates to get there." Rodney paused and his grinned returned to his face. "Right. So. Elizabeth already wants me on the project. Of course, who wouldn't? Biggest genius in the galaxy, we'll need someone like me when we get there," he said, puffing out his chest.

John wiped some rain off his face and bit the inside of his mouth to keep himself from saying anything. He thought the rain was coming faster now, some of it puddling in dips in the dirt road and more landing on the two of them.

"We need ATA gene carriers, too," Rodney continued. He pointed at John again. "That's why _you_ need to join the Atlantis project with me. I already told Elizabeth about you. She'll be happy to have you around."

"You accepted a job for me?"

"What? No! You really suck at listening. I'm telling you about the job now, so you c--." Rodney paused with his mouth hanging open on the next word, then leaned back slightly. A rain drop ran down the bridge of his nose. "The Atlantis expedition is a fantastic opportunity, Sheppard. We could learn things that would put science ahead by _centuries_. This is the chance of a lifetime and you have to get in _now_ before the SGC fills it up with -- with lackeys and yes-men!" he blurted.

John stared and felt the rain pick up to a steady drizzle. It rattled on the few pieces of metal left around the ghost town -- a water pump in front of a house, the cover on a still-standing chimney, and, of course, their motorcycles down the road. He swallowed once. He clenched his fists at his sides and then slowly uncurled his fingers. Water dripped from his hair down onto his face.

Rodney fidgeted and wiped rain from his eyes. "You could say something, you know."

Taking a breath, John shrugged. He could have sworn he heard his bones creak past the sound of the rain. "Rodney? I hate light switch duty," he said.

Rodney blinked. "It wouldn't be--"

"My record isn't good, Rodney," John cut in. There was a lump in his throat the size of his fist and the rain suddenly made everything feel twenty degrees cooler. "I'm at Area 51 because nobody wanted to put up with me. They just wanted to send me somewhere I couldn't fuck things up anymore."

"So? Who cares about your record?" Rodney asked, his face turning pink. "I just told you, Elizabeth is better than the rest of the people we work with! I mean, she's no me, but she does all the politics stuff so geniuses like me don't have to," he said, fumbling over the words a bit. He hesitated, casting around, and finally decided on adding, "You'd like her!"

"Yeah," John muttered. He was tempted to take a step backwards but squared his shoulders instead. That knot in his throat dropped into his stomach. "I was starting to _like_ it at Groom Lake, too. But if y--" He grit his teeth. "Let's see if my name comes up naturally, huh?" he asked.

"But people are stupid!" Rodney protested. "I'll be hand-picking most of the science staff so it only makes sense to ensure that some of the military aren't _complete_ morons too!"

"Gee, thanks," John said, his voice flat.

The rain picked up around them while they stared at each other.

"Are you saying you _aren't_ interested? Even in learning more?" Rodney finally asked.

John glanced down the road towards their motorcycles. His discarded jacket was probably getting drenched. "I don't really want to talk about it anymore, no."

"But--" Rodney's jaw dropped and for a second John thought he'd stunned him speechless, but then the man seemed to snap back together. "Fine! If you really want to ignore the best chance we'll ever have to explore technology so advanced that even I won't understand it right away, fine! Just stay in Nevada so you can drive Jeeps through the desert and fly planes the military will probably never even have the budget to put into service anyway! Do what you want!"

"Yeah -- Yeah, fine," John said. It was amazing Rodney's head didn't explode, from the look that came on his face.

John watched Rodney spin and stomp back towards the motorcycles. Each step he took came closer to making a splash and there were already wide puddles forming at the edges of the dirt road. The farther Rodney got away the harder it was to see him through the dimness of the storm.

A couple of minutes later John saw the headlight of Rodney's motorcycle flare to life, veer sharply, and head down the road. Away from him.

He stared for a long minute before turning around himself and giving a swift kick to the stupid steps of the stupid building in the stupid town he drove stupidly out here all this way to see on a stupid trip that wasn't actually supposed to relax him at all but just gear him up for joining some newer, crazier, _stupider_ place to work.

The step cracked and fell into the dirt after he kicked it, though. And that made him feel pretty bad. The steps had survived all this time before him on their own.

Slumping, John rubbed his palms against his eyes.

He walked down the road, his shirt getting soaked along the way. He picked up his jacket once he reached the motorcycle, but it was as sopping wet as he'd expected and he wasn't about to put it on. Unfortunately, his helmet had tipped off the edge of the bike and landed in the dirt.

Picking it up, he jumped back to avoid the splash of muddy water that poured out of it. "Oh, great." And how was he going to dry out this helmet in the rain? He put it back down -- solidly, so it wouldn't fall over this time -- and tried to dig through his luggage to find a towel. "Good going, Sheppard."

He shoved the towel into the helmet and tried to mop it up without letting any more rain pool inside. "Real good job!" he shouted, mostly just to hear a voice in the storm.

For the next few minutes he stood there in the rain, but it didn't let up. He squinted through the gloom and walked back to the building he'd been at before -- hesitating just before stepping foot on the porch. No, that probably wasn't a good idea. He looked around for another minute before spotting a store at the end of the road through the shadows.

Or maybe a store. By now, who knew. It was too dark to make out whatever writing might have been on the walls anyway. John walked up to it and leaned against one side, still dry, since a mostly-intact wooden awning stretched out over this part of the building. The rain seemed quieter under here and John stood and dripped and squeezed water out of his hair.

That

was fantastic.

No wonder Rodney had wanted to get away from the base. There weren't a lot of places to talk about super-top-secret programs without attracting any attention. Especially since he and Rodney didn't exactly spend a lot of quality time alone. Their movie nights took place in labs or common rooms most of the time.

But why Rodney thought he'd want to sign himself onto a project where he'd be _grounded_ , stuck as a lackey for the scientists -- John grit his teeth and struggled to dislodge the knot that was boiling at the bottom of his stomach.

It wasn't so bad when light switch duty was just half the day. Even if the other half was maintenance on the craft he was testing, at least he was near a plane. Rodney wanted him to go through the Stargate just to languish in an underwater city and maybe never live on the surface for years?

After Afghanistan John had been sure he would never fly again. He might be stuck in the middle of nowhere but he flew at least once a week, in the kinds of crafts a pilot somewhere else would never even hear of in their lifetime.

He clenched a hand at his side and tapped his fist against the wall a few times.

How could Rodney ask -- how could he _assume_ … Just … "Damn it," he muttered. He kicked at the dirt and wrung out the hem of his shirt. The rain was coming down steadily now.

At some point he would have to leave even if it was still raining, though. He couldn't stay here forever. And if the wind shifted, the rain could easily come in underneath his overhang shelter. How awkward would it be to go to the motel check-in counter and see if Rodney had left a key for him? More or less awkward than actually knocking on the room door? The motel would definitely be booked completely up at this point, and John's only other option would be driving around randomly to try to find a big city with a bunch of hotels -- because Rodney had the GPS.

"Well, John, you done fucked up," he muttered, clenching his hands at his sides again. And he was still talking to himself, of course.

Then he thought he heard something over the wind and he lifted his head, noticing for the first time just how dark it was out here.

A headlight cut through the rain, nearly blinding him.

\---

Rodney cursed for a good few miles once the rain started really coming down. He had to cut his speed nearly in half just to feel secure in continuing, and he noticed that he held his breath on corners. It was the first time it'd rained on the entire trip and all of a sudden Rodney couldn't stop remembering every fact or anecdote he'd ever heard about how dangerous driving on newly wet roads was.

Combined with recalling just how long it had really been since he drove on a regular basis, let alone drove a motorcycle, it wasn't long before he ended up pulling over to the side of the road. At least he'd found some trees that provided a little cover from the rain.

This was pretty much the opposite of how he'd expected the Atlantis conversation to go, and he still didn't understand what had happened. Why would anybody _not_ be happy to learn they had the chance to explore an Ancient city? Sure, they hadn't actually _found_ the city yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Rodney had practically leapt out of his seat when Elizabeth told him about Atlantis. (Which maybe had a little bit to do with her also saying she was considering him for the chief scientist.) Sheppard had curled in on himself and told Rodney to shut up and get away from him. Well, basically.

He stared at the empty road for a few minutes before blinking behind his helmet and taking it off. He slowly turned it in his hands, biting his lower lip.

<I> _Dear Elizabeth,_

Sheppard hates the idea so much he didn't even want to look at me.

</I>

…Yeah, no. There was no way Rodney could write back with that kind of report. There must be a way to spin it. Given time, he could think of one. He wasn't the best at interpersonal stuff but he couldn't bring himself to be so blunt as to admit just how terribly he'd screwed up their best chance to get a strong ATA gene carrier onto the project.

Rain landed in his eyes and he blinked it away, moving his head back slightly. He rolled his thoughts over in his head a few times until he got a better feel of them, and then he gulped and put his helmet back on.

He should've called Elizabeth to get advice on this before leaving for the trip. Sure, she'd written back and told him to appeal to Sheppard's interest in adventure, but Rodney hadn't ended up doing that, had he? Maybe the lesson from Elizabeth would've stuck better in his head if he'd had time to run a spiel by her.

The entire speech he'd ended up giving was something like the inaugural reception new people in the Stargate program got. All of them. Elizabeth had gotten his attention by appealing to him, personally (and maybe his ego), and he had … he definitely had not done the same with Sheppard.

Plus, he'd just fucked up the one good friendship he'd actually made at Area 51.

When he got back on his bike and turned onto the road, he headed back toward the ghost town instead of in the direction of the motel.

The road leading into town was much worse than when they'd come in the first time. The ruts and dips in the dirt had all filled with water and Rodney had to weave past a few of them in fear that they were deeper than they looked. It didn't help that there wasn't any lighting out here. Only his headlight stood out in the dark and with the clouds overhead, there was no starlight or moonlight cutting through to make it easier to see.

It wasn't until he parked and spotted Sheppard stepping away from a building that he realized he could've run the man over if he hadn't been careful. He shuddered and took off his helmet, being careful to put it down so it wouldn't collect rain water like a bucket. After a second of wondering how much gas he had remaining in the tank, he just left the headlight on, since he was pretty sure without it he wouldn't be able to see well enough to walk far in the mud.

Sheppard met him halfway along the street.

"So, uh…" Rodney stared at him for a second. "You're … wet."

He raised both eyebrows. "So are you."

"Point." Rodney hesitated and cleared his throat when Sheppard didn't say anything else. "So, I… I wanted to…" He paused, feeling the moment slipping away from him as Sheppard's expression started to go blank, and he reached out for the first thing he could think of. "Do you know why I actually learned how to ride a motorcycle?" he blurted.

"No…" Sheppard said, slowly.

"I did really learn from the only tolerable person in my dorm," Rodney said, rushing into the story before he could think better of it. "But it really wasn't so that I'd have something to write to Jeannie about. Well, I mean, I thought about that, but it wasn't the real reason I wanted to learn, I mean, like I said, motorcycles are kind of metal death traps, when you think about the accidents alone caused by stupid drivers who just don't see them--"

"Rodney," Sheppard said, rubbing his hand over his face.

"Right." Rodney snapped back to attention. "I learned to -- to prove to myself I could do it, and because… The guy who taught me was the only person who talked to me who wasn't a teacher and even though he wasn't the brightest person around, I mean, obviously, and you know I've never cared about being the center of a crowd everywhere I go--"

" _Rodney_."

Rodney bit his lip. "Look, I… I was a teenager, alone, and my parents had never been that invested in my life. The only person who actually cared about me was Jeannie and she was busy with her own stuff." He took a deep breath to brace himself with. "I learned because I was tired of being alone at school and having nothing to do besides class work that I was mostly ahead on anyway, for teachers who half thought I was just a brat to be ignored as much as possible."

A pained expression crossed Rodney's face and he shook himself. "Honestly I kind of hate driving and I'd rather fall asleep in a car than get behind the wheel of a motorcycle. But I learned and … I came on this trip … because I thought it'd be a good thing to do," he finished.

Sheppard stared at him for a long moment, rain collecting in his hair. "I don't want to work underwater, Rodney," he finally said, his shoulders slumping.

"It's an alien city built by the Ancients and surrounded by myth. For all we know it's a collection of tents in a big campground, or a bunch of platforms built around the top of a mountain."

"Gee, that's appealing," Sheppard said. But the corner of his mouth turned up.

"You should… You should at least talk to Elizabeth about it," Rodney said. "Besides, there's bound to be a Stargate there, and we'll have to be in contact with other people. That's what the SGC does here. Plus, who knows what kinds of things the Ancients left behind? There could be a parking garage full of _spaceships_ for all we know." He snapped his fingers a couple of times. "And besides, didn't you tell me wanted to go to other planets ever since you heard about the Stargate?"

Sheppard let out a little laugh. "Yeah." He rubbed his hand over his face again but didn't seem so tense anymore. "I'm not going to be shunted to do grunt work under somebody who hates me," he said.

Rodney snorted. "If the commander sucks I'll just demand you work under me to head … military experiments or whatever," he said.

For another minute it was just them, in the dark, with the rain coming down around them.

Then Sheppard said, "Let's get to the motel before they give away our room."

\---

Of course, in Arizona, Rodney wanted to walk the trail around the rim of the meteor crater. Though truth be told John wouldn't have wanted to look at the thing through the air-conditioned indoor viewing platform, either. The only people there were those who looked like the heat or the walk might be a bit too much for them, and Sheppard took a breath as they headed outside, glad he wasn't stuck back there too.

There was a tour guide taking a group of people around the rim and talking to them about the meteor and the crater but Rodney overshot it and John just grinned at the looks some of the people in the group gave them.

"Some day you're going to have to learn not to cut in line, Rodney," he said, traipsing along the narrow paved path.

Rodney waved a hand. "Whatever. Like there's anything to learn in the tour we can't just read or see for ourselves." He seemed impatient, but he had lingered in the building to read a fair amount of the displays.

John smirked a bit. He wanted to go back and see the movie about the crater forming again before they left. It'd been loud and strangely exciting and soothing at the same time. Rodney had muttered about it the entire time they waited for the theater doors to open, but he'd shut up as soon as they were in their seats.

The heat had ebbed some since the night before. John had slept too hard to pay any attention to the weather but a cold front or something must have moved in. He was grateful for it. Being in the desert in the heat reminded him too much of work. They were heading back to Nevada after this and he was already dreading it a little.

He brushed that thought away and caught up with Rodney as the scientist peered over the edge of the crater.

It was huge. John felt small next to it, and imagined that maybe even Rodney did, too. He'd seen big geological formations from the air before but there was nothing quite like being on the ground with them, confronted with them eye-to-eye. Especially this. John could barely take in the scope of the crater and he knew that whatever had created it would've been even larger when it entered the atmosphere.

From what he'd heard, it was bigger than the Stargate. He tried to imagine a spaceship that could fit through the Stargate -- but since he'd never seen the thing in person, all he could picture was a VW Bug. The ships Rodney thought might be in Atlantis could easily be miniature land crawlers.

"You know, geology isn't really my thing, but it wouldn't be that bad to get my hands on some samples from this," Rodney said. "I'm surprised it never turned into a lake. Though I guess statistically speaking, with as many meteors as hit us, one was bound to turn up in a place like this."

John nodded a bit. "Imagine swimming down to the bottom of that and finding a fossil," he mused.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "I think you would drown before you could swim to the bottom of the crater. If it was really a lake," he said. He made a sweeping gesture at the entire formation before them. "Besides, I think you would be able to tell from the outside that it wasn't a natural formation before you even dove in."

"Maybe," John conceded.

He could imagine a diving board fixed into the rock, though. It would be quite the landing. But Rodney was right -- there'd be no gradual slope to the side of the lake. It'd really be too deep to swim in. Maybe the Ancients had mini-submarines to explore oceans or deep lakes. Considering Atlantis had a good chance of being underwater

He looked over the rim of his sunglasses at Rodney. "We should make sure we get a chance to swim at our last hotel before we go back to Nevada."

That distracted Rodney from whatever he was studying. "What? I didn't bring a bathing suit."

"So? We'll buy some. C'mon, it's a vacation." He waggled his eyebrows and clapped Rodney on the shoulder. "Besides, you might need it later."

Rodney looked confused for a brief moment before letting out a laugh that was mostly bark. It made John grin. Even after they'd made up post-fight, that night and the following morning had been a bit awkward. It'd been hard for John to get his mind off the idea of Atlantis. He'd had a dream about swimming and trying to do paperwork underwater. His pen wouldn't write and Rodney had swum by with a pencil, laughing at him. Except the laughs had been silent and covered Rodney in bubbles. And then John had turned into a merman.

Which told him that he shouldn't drink too much coffee before bed and Rodney's bad habits must have been rubbing off on him this past week.

"Trust me, you're not going to see me in the water anytime soon," Rodney assured him.

John mock-pouted. "What, you don't want to learn to surf?"

" _Surf?_ Are you kidding me? Do you have any idea--"

Rocking back on his heels, John listened to Rodney rambling on without taking in many of the words. He'd have to tell him about his last vacation to Australia, which had been one of the best surfing trips of his life. Rodney could freak out about man-of-wars and sharks and, knowing him, the coral reef would come up sometime too.

They were leaning over the edge of the crater again when someone walked up behind them and cleared her throat. Rodney jumped a good inch, but Sheppard just pushed his sunglasses back into place and shifted his weight to rest on his back leg.

"Dr. Rodney McKay? Major John Sheppard?" the woman asked. She had black hair shorn short against her scalp and was wearing a white blouse and a black skirt. The way she carried herself made him think she had a gun tucked away somewhere.

Rodney clenched his jaw. "Look, we are not overdue to return to work," Rodney said.

The woman smiled. Her teeth were as bright white as her shirt. "Rest assured that's not why I'm here, Dr. McKay."

John and Rodney looked at each other.

"You won't be going back to Nevada," the woman said. She pointed back toward the museum and information center. "Dr. Elizabeth Weir wants to see you both in Antarctica as soon as possible."

The woman showed them an SGC identification card and turned them around to head back to the parking lot. John thought if they were closer, they might've been able to see a large, dark car parked next to their motorcycles. The woman didn't say anything else as they approached, and the tour group went past them with only a few second-looks cast in their direction.

"I'm not going to get to go swimming, am I?" John asked Rodney.

Rodney smirked. "If you're lucky."


End file.
